


Heartbeats in Time

by forreveries



Series: Quick Fic Prompts [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, High School, Indie Music, M/M, Marijuana, One very light mention of, Recreational Drug Use, rainy afternoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 03:41:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20557634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forreveries/pseuds/forreveries
Summary: Based on the prompt: Harry and Louis are stuck inside on a rainy day and it’s all cuddles and snuggles and then one of them kisses the other for the first time and they admit their feelings.





	Heartbeats in Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of a new series I'm doing, Quick Fic Prompts, where I write short fics based on prompts given to me on Tumblr. If you would like to request something, leave an ask in my [Tumblr Askbox](https://forreveries.tumblr.com/ask). (Note, there is no guarantee I will get around to writing it, sorry!)
> 
> Art by the wonderful [thebearsring!](https://thebearsring.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Tumblr Post](https://forreveries.tumblr.com/post/187564828771/heartbeats-in-time-by-forreveries-harrylouis-65k)

* * *

The rain tapped against the window in time with Harry’s heart. Droplets slid down it in the same fashion that a warm fuzz washed over his skin.

He was sure that the rain was too loud for Louis to hear his heartbeat, hammering away in his chest, but surely he could feel it.

His ear, afterall, was lying across Harry’s sternum. 

They were lying in bed, mismatched quilts around them, doing nothing more than watching water fall out of the grey nothingness outside and hit the glass of Louis’ bay window. They could have sat over there and pressed their foreheads against the glass, could have turned their heads and softly, wistfully, smiled at each other from mere centimetres apart.

But they hadn’t. Because when Louis had gone to the corner of his room, beneath the posters of _ The Strokes _ and the _ DMAs _ and the 90s movies that had brought them together, Harry had sat on the end of Louis’ bed.

And then Louis had come over and pushed him back, cuddled into his side, and put his ear right there. Right against Harry’s heart.

So it beat away, and they watched the rain, and they listened to the quiet musings of Harry’s latest find, an album by _ Wet _.

It seemed befitting that they’d lie here listening to it, almost as though Mother Nature had seen Harry cycling on his old yellow bike under the oak trees on Mulberry Lane and decided that she’d help him along, give him a perfectly good reason to wind up tucked away in Louis’ bedroom. She’d close up the skies and smatter Harry’s cheeks with kisses of fine rain, telling him to hurry to Louis’ before the thunder came and the plastic packet around the vinyls in his basket wouldn’t be enough to keep them dry.

When he’d finally made it to Louis’ house, a brick house with colourful, overgrown flowers everywhere, hanging from the house in planters, growing into the cracks of the footpath, creeping up towards the windows. Harry had thrown his bike into the roses and Louis had opened the door with a smile. The same soft smile he gave when they’d first met, when Louis was the new kid and Harry had his face in a novel titled _ Trainspotting _.

Louis had walked right up to him in the library and asked him if he’d seen the movie and Harry had said _ of course _ with an overzealous grin, a playful roll of his eyes. Then he’d asked Louis if he’d seen _ Moulin Rouge _, another favourite of his, another with Ewan McGregor.

Louis had quietly scoffed as he pulled out the seat next to Harry’s and shrugged. “Yeah, it’s alright I guess.”

“Just alright?” Harry asked, putting down his book and giving the kid a wide-eyed, disbelieving look. Moulin Rouge was Baz Luhrman at his finest.

“I mean, if we’re talking Ewan McGregor movies, I just prefer some of his other stuff,” Louis replied with another shrug, a smile. He pulled out a timetable from his pocket, already creased and floury along the edges where it had ripped. 

“Like?” Harry asked, watching him turn the paper so it was the right way up.

Louis didn’t look up at him as he quietly said, “Have you heard of Velvet Goldmine?”

Harry had.

He’d seen it.

Several times.

The image of Ewan McGregor and Jonathan Rhys Meyers locking lips and then Ewan McGregor making love with Christian Bale in their glittery, grimy circus universe had been burned into his brain ever since.

Harry’s breath caught and he could only stare at this new kid who’d made himself at home at Harry’s table. He could only watch as he cottoned on to Harry’s silence and slid his eyes towards him.

Harry didn’t need to say that he’d spent the Saturday nights he was alone watching the movie again and again and again. There was something unspoken between them, something they recognised. Something that made Harry’s heart beat too hard.

So he broke the silence with a smile at the kid next to him and asked his name.

“Louis,” he replied. Another soft smile. Coy. Shy. “Louis Tomlinson.”

Harry let out an airy smile and replied, “Harry. I’m Harry.”

And then he asked about Louis Tomlinson’s classes and his heart never stopped beating like the pelting rain on that window.

Harry’s eyes refocused and caught on the white glow of clouds outside. Louis shifted against his chest and tucked an arm around his stomach.

Harry caught it with his own hand, carefully laying it across Louis’ forearm.

It should have felt strange, too intimate, too _ romantic _for anyone else’s liking. But that’s just who Harry and Louis were. They were friends who hugged and who cuddled. Whose glances and touches maybe held a little too long, but friends nonetheless.

Only friends.

It had been easy for them to fall into their roles, where the space between them only existed when they weren’t alone, that’s just who Louis was. He was cuddly and affectionate and Harry was simply happy to be along for the ride.

And he was just too shy to make it anything else. So far.

It had been a slow build to here. A few months ago, they wouldn’t have laid here like this, listening to music and the constant patter of rain in each other’s arms. At first, a day into their friendship, it had been simply Louis deciding that they would be the kind of friends who hugged when they saw each other. Then, a week later, he decided that they were friends who sat in each other’s lap. A week after that and he started playing with Harry’s hair and poor Harry didn’t know what to do with himself.

Because with each inch, each breath, that they spent closer and closer, his heart beat harder, faster. Louder.

Harry had been adamant they were just friends who just happened to like the same movies, the same music, the same bike rides through farmland with just each other. They were just friends who perhaps might both like the thought of Ewan Mcgregor getting off with Christian Bale.

But that didn’t mean they were more.

Louis was so cool, so different. There was no way he would settle on someone like Harry. He knew more bands than Harry, knew more movies. Harry hadn’t even heard of half of the ones plastered on Louis’ walls until Louis had made him watch them with him.

Harry was always the one playing catch up. He was always the one pretending with a vague nod that he _ knew things _ when they snuck into the fields beyond the fences of their school, where the dandelions were tall and damp and their weed smoke wouldn’t be smelled. It was always him trying not to stumble over his words when Louis asked what he thought of _ Greenday _ or _ The Libertines _ or _ Echo & the Bunnymen _ when he was on some smoky tangent between puffs.

It wasn’t that Harry hadn’t heard of them, he had and he liked them, but not the way Louis did. Louis could spin tales about bandmates and fallouts and history with such precision that Harry could only watch and smile loosely as he took the blunt from Louis’ fingers.

Harry had always been accused of being the pretentious one, whose music and movie tastes were a little too specific, too purposely different. It had always been him who stocked his room with old cameras and books and polaroids of moments only he could decipher, so although it was a little unnerving when Louis’ lips hollowed around a homemade joint and then curled around his words, it was nice to have someone who got it. Who got that what Harry liked was simply what he liked. Who let Harry take paint their nails together and play with his mum’s fabric and take photos of whatever came out of it. It was a natural gravitation, like the moon to the Earth, or Harry to Louis.

The first time Harry realised he had a crush on Louis was simultaneously the first time they curled up in Louis’ bay window and watched _ The Disaster Artist _ together. Louis had actually nabbed a projector from school, under the pretense of working on some vague school project that not even the teacher quite believed. But she’d let him have it, and he’d dragged Harry straight home from class and set it up to shine on the wall above his bed. They’d stuffed the window area with pillows and crochet quilts and Harry had made himself comfortable with Louis’ ginger cat, Billie, and a bowl of almost-burnt popcorn while Louis fiddled with his laptop. Then he’d come right over and plonked himself down against Harry’s side and pulled a blanket over them. 

There wasn’t technically that much room to sit with all the pillows and Billie in the corner, so Harry tried not to think too much about it. Instead, he thought only of the way that Louis’ hand then made it to Harry’s side as the movie flickered by, as Louis giggled along. It rested there like Louis hadn’t even realised, but Harry was suddenly all too aware that there were butterflies in his stomach and surely Louis could feel them.

So when the butterflies started and Harry finally had a name for what he was feeling — a _ crush _— that’s when he started reaching for Louis too.

That started on one of their bike rides, out to the old farmhouse on Richard Bleakley’s land down the road. It was where they went when the weather wasn’t too wet or too cold. They could lie amongst the hay and watch the clouds pass through the hole in the roof until the sky turned orange.

Harry had led them there the morning after the night of their movie. He barely slept all night, thinking only of the warm weight of Louis against his side as they shared his bed. He’d only fallen asleep when he’d tentatively wrapped an arm around Louis’ waist and Louis, muttering in his dreams, pulled him closer. They’d woken in the morning a mess of limbs, Harry’s hair stuck at awkward angles, and then over breakfast he’d suggested they take their bikes out. Louis, with his fringe standing on end and a spoonful of cornflakes in his mouth, grinned. And nodded.

When they got there and lay shoulder to shoulder beneath their perfect hole in the roof, Louis had asked him where, if he could go absolutely _ anywhere _, he would want to visit. Any other time and Harry would have spouted off some story about Japan or Vietnam or Madagascar. But then, in that moment, with their heads so close that Louis’ hair got lost in Harry’s, with the spotless sky above, he couldn’t think of another place to go.

“Here’s fine,” Harry said quietly. It felt like an admission. 

“Here?” Louis asked back, his voice soft and husky and swirling like the dust in the rafters.

Harry hummed back and brought his thumb to his lip, so he could bite his nail.

Louis was quiet for a moment, ticking away, and Harry’s heart started beating too quickly. Like maybe he’d said too much in those two simple words.

But then Harry felt Louis shift and whisper, “Yeah, here is perfect.”

Harry’s heart thudded, faster than the wings of the robins that flitted outside. Louis had said here was perfect. He’d equated being next to Harry with being perfect. _ Perfect _.

Harry smiled around his thumbnail and had to blink away the overwhelming desire to actually tear up. He was so overwhelmed. Instead though, he forced himself to take a breath, wipe his nail on his jumper and tentatively reach his hand out to Louis. He placed it against Louis’ bicep, against the yellow hoodie that covered it.

He felt Louis shift again, felt his hair move as he looked down at Harry’s hand. And then he felt Louis’ finger hook around his, and they sat there, not saying anything and not feeling like they had to. Outside, the only sounds that broke their comfortable silence were the birds in the trees and the distant rumble of a car driving by.

* * *

“Harry,” Louis said, voice quiet as a whisper, barely audible against the rain outside. He was walking his two first fingers up Harry’s stomach. Harry, too caught up in his thoughts, hadn’t noticed when he’d started doing it, but he didn’t want him to stop.

“Mm?” Harry hummed, pulling his eyes from the rainy window outside to watch Louis’ fingers make their way to his chest.

“It’s awfully sad sounding.”

“What is?” 

Louis chuckled quietly because Harry clearly hadn’t been paying enough attention. “This music. Who is it, did you say? Wet?”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry. I can change it if you want.”

Louis chuckled again and shook his head against Harry’s shoulder, “No it’s fine, it sounds nice, I like it. Just, the lyrics have been a bit sad so far. Gimme a few more songs.”

“Okay,” Harry said quietly. He moved his hand to Louis’, the one with two fingers on his sternum, and knocked Louis’ forefinger with the nail of his. Louis softly lifted his fingers and pushed Harry’s up too so he could press their palms together, splay their fingers apart.

Harry’s hands were bigger than Louis, whose fingers only came up to the first knuckle of Harry’s. And yet Louis felt so much bigger than Harry, so much brighter, quicker, like Louis had enough reach to hold the whole world in his hands. He could do anything.

Anything like kiss Harry on the mouth, if he wanted to.

It was quiet for a single, perfect moment before Louis said, again, “Harry.”

This time it sounded different. cautious. More cautious than he’d ever been, and Harry’s chest tightened up. Coiled into a tense thread that Louis was surely about to pull until Harry fell apart.

“Yeah?” Harry whispered back, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice.

“Why…” Louis started, moving his hands away from Harry’s, touching it instead to his own face. Almost covering his mouth with it. That’s what he did when he was nervous, as though covering the words he said would protect them.

Harry felt like he knew what Louis was about to ask and he felt the coil start to pull.

“You almost kissed me.”

Harry was right. The coil started unravelling, started streaming out of him.

Louis was talking about the party. Liam’s party. It had been a week ago, and they’d carried on as per usual ever since, pretending everything was the same.

Pretending as though they were only friends.

That Harry didn’t want them as something more.

Harry had gotten so drunk that he forgot that Louis was too good for him, was only a friend that he cuddled and held hands with and told all his secrets to bar the one about his crush. He’d forgotten what would happen if he went to kiss Louis and Louis had to remind him that sure, they both liked boys and there was comradery in that, but that didn’t mean Louis liked _ him _.

Because Louis was cuddly with everyone.

He put his hands in Zayn’s hair, he sat in Perrie’s lap, he hugged Niall and Liam and the rest of their friends when he saw them. He even invited Leigh-Anne over to watch _ The Miseducation of Cameron Post _ when Harry was away in Brighton with his family.

Louis was simply an affectionate person, whose hands didn’t just belong to Harry.

But Harry had forgotten that the night of the party.

It was a relatively small party, just their group of friends and a few hopeful extras couped up in Liam’s living room when his parents had gone to Glasgow. But Liam had still set up loud music and lights and cards for drinking games. They played game after game after game, laughing as people tried to learn new rules or had to drink a shot or were dared to kiss someone. Of all of them, though, Harry only really remembered their game of King’s Cup because he’d picked the last king and he’d had to throw back a concoction of cider and vodka and mixers and beer and it was disgusting but that was simply the nature of it. He took it in good fun, taking a few goes to get it all back. Louis had been right there, hand against his back, offering to help him if he didn’t want to finish it, but Harry knew that the feeling of Louis’ hand would feel different, closer with alcohol running through his veins.

When it hit him, hard and bright and like a smack to the face, everyone had dispersed. Half of his friends had made their way outside to talk on Liam’s arrangement of plastic chairs and the other half were sprawled out across his living room. Either talking or laughing or dancing and Harry was watching them from one of the sofas with droopy eyes and a droopier smile on his face.

Louis was next to him, like he always was. His feet were in Harry’s lap and he was leaning back to talk to one of Liam’s friends from football he didn’t know the name of. He couldn’t hear what they were talking about, someone had put on Ariana Grande and turned up the volume.

Harry was content with only having Louis’ legs on him though. He was delightfully preoccupied with the warm glittery feeling under his skin, the slosh of liquid in his stomach.

He leant over to the arm of the couch and rested the side of his head to it, watched Leigh-Anne snog her boyfriend and wondered when he’d have that. Wondered when he’d have someone to kiss in front of his friends like it was no big deal, and if it would ever be Louis.

He thought that it would feel nice to have a boyfriend — a Louis — to kiss. It would feel nicer than watching it from across the room like some pervert.

Harry chuckled to himself morosely and pulled his eyes from the sight, slid them lazily to the cheap spinning light Liam had bought.

He watched the thing shine coloured lights across the walls, watched it spin and spin and spin.

And spin.

A hand was suddenly on Harry’s shoulder.

He blinked at the feeling but didn’t move.

The hand shook him.

And then there were lips against his ear. They were warm, wet and they were saying something but all Harry noticed was the shiver it sent down his spine.

“Harry,” it said and Harry just barely registered that it wasn’t the first time his name had been said.

His shoulder was shaken again and the hair around his face was moved out of the way by fingers. At some point it must have flopped down around his eyes.

“Haz,” the voice came again and this time Harry hummed.

“Do you want some water?”

Harry didn’t reply, because he felt so nice and he didn’t want to change that. And also his stomach was full, anything else would make him uncomfortable. Sick even.

Eventually he shook his head.

“Some bread? Crisps?”

A face appeared in front of him, so close it looked bulbous, and it was Louis.

Harry could see his eyelashes from here. They looked gorgeous. So did his eyes. And his lips. And his everything.

Harry grinned up at him and Louis smiled back.

“Are you okay, love?” Louis asked. Harry couldn’t tell his tone, if it was concern or amusement or if Louis was simply just as drunk as him.

Harry nodded nonetheless and slurred, “I’m great. You’re great, you know. You’re fucking great.”

Louis chuckled and rubbed Harry’s shoulder and it felt like home. He never wanted Louis’ hands to leave him again. He wanted them to stay. He didn’t want Louis to move his hands unless they were leaving to touch the rest of his body. Harry had always paused to watch Louis’ fingers delicately rifle through vinyls on the afternoons they got bored and busied themselves at the local dingy record store and Harry wanted Louis’ fingers to walk up him like they walked over those vinyl packets, he wanted them to creep up his chest and into his mouth.

And now he really wanted to kiss Louis.

“You’re great too,” Louis smiled, lips moving deliciously, “but you’re perhaps a little too drunk. Have some crisps or something?”

Harry didn’t really want to. He didn’t want to leave this moment of their faces so close together.

He slowly blinked and shook his head.

Louis rolled his eyes with what could have been a frustrated grin. And Harry almost _ wanted _ him to be frustrated, then he would know what Harry felt like.

“Do it for me?” Louis added. He’d moved his hand to Harry’s thigh and he was really, actually, squeezing it.

And that was reason enough.

Harry nodded and grabbed Louis’ hand so that he would have to keep touching Harry as he led him to the kitchen. Louis, being perfect Louis, held his hand tightly and put his other hand around Harry’s waist and this was _ great _.

“I’m too drunk to be looking after you if you go tits up, Haz,” Louis grinned as he guided Harry up onto the bench. Harry leaned on whatever was next to him, it must have been a fridge.

“Sorry,” he admitted, but he was still smiling because Louis patted his knee. “It’s not my fault I lost King’s Cup.”

“I did offer to help!” Louis laughed as he tapped Harry’s nose.

It made Harry blink and by the time he opened his eyes again, Louis was on the other side of the kitchen, swaying his hips to the music as he decided which bag of crisps he was going to open.

He came back to Harry with salt and vinegar, which was good because that was the only acceptable crisp choice. Harry swiped them from Louis and tore open the bag.

“Oi, you,” Louis laughed as Harry plowed into them, crumbs falling from his mouth as he ate a handful.

Harry shoved the bag in Louis’ direction so he could have some too. Even in this state, happy and wanting and frustrated and _ drunk _, Harry would still share anything with Louis.

“Thanks, babe,” Louis grinned as he took a handful and started shoving crisps into his mouth.

“You’re welcome, _ babe, _” Harry said back, closing his eyes and raising his eyebrows to show just how accommodating he was being.

“Are you having an alright night?” Louis asked as he turned to lean against the bench between Harry’s legs. Harry moved his legs apart and shuffled back so he had more room, so he could hook his legs around Louis’ waist.

Louis pulled Harry’s arms around his front too so that he had access to the crisp bag as they watched over the party.

Harry simply rested his chin on Louis’ head and said, “Yeah, it’s good. I’m good. You’re gooood.”

“And you’re clearly piss drunk,” Louis laughed. He ate a crisp and then added, “I think Lukas’ gonna try and hook up with Perrie tonight.”

“Who’s Lukas?” 

“He’s on Liam’s football team, look there,” he pointed at the guy he’d been talking to on the couch. A kid with a decent tan and fawny hair. Kind of like Louis but taller and squarer. Less pretty. “He’s a decent player, but I kind of get the impression he’s as much a player off the field as he is on it.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed, taking another crisp and eating it over Louis’ shoulder. “He’s cute though, might have to tell her to be wary.”

“He’s cute is he?” Louis asked amusedly. “You like the brunettes, huh?”

“I do,” Harry said, smiling to himself because it was true. He liked a brunette. And Louis was a brunette, and he was standing between Harry’s legs and his hair was right there. He couldn’t smell it over the burn of vodka on his tongue but he’d memorised it already. All the hugs and the cuddles and the nights spent in the same bed, Harry knew that Louis’ hair smelled like coconut and pomegranate.

And because he was feeling happy and glittery and a little too okay with letting bits of himself slip, Harry put the bag of crisps to his side, wiped his hands, and actually started playing with Louis’ hair.

It was something he’d done a million times before, stroking it and threading it through his fingers, but this time felt different. _ Tonight _ felt different. Harry was feeling on edge, feeling like every happy smile he gave Louis, every touch he gave him, was another admission. One that he was happy to give away.

Louis looked cute, looked _ hot _, and maybe tonight Harry would let him know. Because they were at a party filled with other boys, with all the other people that Louis touched and hugged and invited to his house, but he was choosing to spend it all with Harry. He was standing in the kitchen with Harry.

He was standing between Harry’s legs.

“Louis,” Harry said, grinning against his ear. “You have nice hair.”

Louis turned so he was facing Harry and smiled up at him, like Harry was some play thing, some source of amusement. “Is it as nice as Lukas’?”

Harry made a show of inspecting Louis’ hair, twisting it between his fingers.

“Better,” he decided.

“Better?” Louis echoed.

“The best. You’re the best. You’re—” Harry hiccuped— “You’re perfect, Loubear.”

“You’re perfect, Harry,” Louis said and it came out a little too soft.

And that’s when everything sort of went quiet. 

Harry found himself staring down into Louis’ eyes and they sparkled more than the buzz in Harry’s veins, glittered more than the spinning lights in the living room. They made Harry’s heart thud and feel more sober than he’d felt in hours.

Suddenly he felt so awake, so alive, even though his thoughts were still so far away. The voice of reason, of caution, was locked in another room. Ariana Grande was drowning it out, so was the blue of Louis’ perfect eyes. They always looked a little sleepy. He liked them best in the mornings when they were still puffy, when he looked a little dreamy.

Harry let his hands drift down from Louis’ hair to his chin. He let his fingers tentatively lift Louis’ head just a touch, enough to slowly blink and see him perfectly.

He brushed the soft hairs at the edge of his fringe from his brow.

Louis wasn’t saying anything, he was just looking back up at Harry. He looked like he was waiting for something and maybe Harry had been wrong, maybe Louis _ would _go for someone like him. He wouldn’t just be a crush.

Maybe Louis was waiting for Harry to kiss him.

Harry wanted him to be.

There was nothing telling him he wasn’t.

Louis chuckled under his breath and Harry thought he could finally see how slowly Louis was blinking, how blissful he looked. Maybe looking at Louis for so long was making Harry sober, making him more aware of the fact that Louis was pretty drunk too.

Or maybe the heady feeling he had was simply overwhelmed by the anticipation running through his heart.

Harry had no way to tell.

He had no way to tell anything.

Anything other than the fact that he wanted to kiss Louis and Louis was right there, waiting for him.

Harry bit his lip and tried not to fall over he leant down. Louis was just as intoxicating as his cider. His lips were so close.

He pulled Louis’ chin towards him and it felt like Louis was letting him.

Until he wasn’t.

Louis paused, kept his head from moving anymore. He was only an inch away.

He put a hand to Harry’s chest and moved his head to rest against it.

Harry felt everything tumble down. He suddenly realised how drunk he was, drunk enough to mistake Louis’ actions.

He was an idiot.

A massive, fucking, idiot with the worst crush in the world.

He would have thrown something if Louis wasn’t still there, resting against his chest. He would have cried if he didn’t hiccup.

“Hazza, baby,” Louis whispered. Harry only heard it because he was so close to his ear. “Wait.”

_ Wait _.

Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from sobbing. Rejection was seeping into his eyes.

“You’re so drunk, we’re both so drunk,” Louis added, moving back to look at Harry. He wiped at the corner of his eye with his thumb and maybe Harry _ had _started crying. He couldn’t tell. 

He couldn’t fucking tell anything.

All he could do was look down at Louis’ face and hope that they could still be friends.

Louis started to say something else. 

“I wan—” was all he got out before he was cut off, someone was screaming, or laughing, and they were running towards them.

It was Perrie and she was running away from Lukas, cackling as he tried to tickle her.

“Louis! Save me!” she yelled, diving into the corner of the kitchen so Louis was in front of her. She yanked at him, pulling him to her rescue, completely unaware that she had interrupted something. Because how could she have known, Harry and Louis were always cuddled together like that, limbs wrapped around each other. There would have been nothing amiss to her.

Certainly not if she was too drunk to read the thoughts on Harry’s face.

And so Harry leaned back against the fridge to watch Louis go to Perrie’s playful rescue and he let his face go stoney so tears wouldn’t come up as Louis chased Lukas out into the back garden.

After that, Harry went out and half-heartedly collected his bike so that he could walk home and hope that he’d be too drunk to remember this in the morning.

* * *

Harry didn’t reply to Louis’ mention of the almost-kiss. He didn’t know what to even reply with, all he knew was that while he was impossibly drunk that night, he definitely remembered everything he didn’t want to.

Outside, thunder suddenly cracked and now it felt like mother nature was laughing at him. She’d sent him right there just to mock him.

Harry had thought he was in the clear, that they could just go on being the friends who just fit together perfectly as though nothing had happened.

But something _ had _happened and now Louis was trying to talk about it.

And Harry wasn’t replying.

He wanted to kick himself. He was _ never _short on words around Louis. They spent hours talking into the night whenever they stayed at each other’s houses. They spent classes talking so much that their teachers had grown accustomed to telling them off with a simple, reminding, “Boys.”

And now Harry couldn’t even say something as needed as _ sorry _. He couldn’t even apologise for the fact that when they hugged and cuddled now, Louis felt the same undercurrent of things being different.

Harry’s heart thudded harder because now he knew that Louis remembered the party too, and he knew Harry had feelings for him. He knew why Harry had such a loud, pulsing heartbeat every time he put his ear to his chest.

Louis broke the heavy silence, glancing up at Harry. “Do you even remember it?”

“I—” Harry’s voice caught and he cleared his throat. He wanted to get out from under Louis now because he couldn’t continue to lie in his arms if Louis knew about his crush. But Louis wasn’t moving and he couldn’t bring himself to push him off. So he lay motionless, staring up at the ceiling.

He could lie and say he didn’t remember but Louis wasn’t dumb, he knew when things were up with Harry. He knew when he was lying. He’d surely feel how stiff he was right now.

So Harry nodded.

And then he whispered, “I’m sorry I did that.”

Louis, gentle as ever, shifted so he was still tucked into Harry’s side but now he was staring up at the ceiling too. They lay silently for almost too long. Harry could hear one of Louis’ sisters downstairs in the kitchen and it almost made him laugh at how normal things were in the rest of the house. No one knew. No one would hear their conversation over the rain.

Eventually though, Louis whispered, “Don’t be sorry.” He paused for a breath and then added, “I shouldn’t have left you when Perrie and Lukas came over. I didn’t get to explain myself. I— I wanted to kiss you.”

It didn’t feel like he was done.

Harry bit his lip and waited for Louis to continue.

“We were both so drunk but you were especially. I thought you’d forget it. Or I would. I was about to tell you that I wanted to wait till we were sober and it would actually be special. I’d been waiting for a long time.”

“Why… Why did you wait?”

Louis shrugged against Harry’s side, “I— I don’t know. I guess I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Messing it up, I don’t know. You rejecting me.”

Harry shifted up onto his elbow so he could look down at Louis. “Why would I reject you?”

Louis let a long breath out and shifted too then. He sat up and tucked his knees to his side so he could lean against Harry’s stomach and play with Harry’s sleeve. “Because I thought I was being obvious and you still never tried anything so I thought you just wanted to be friends. Like, literally from the first day, I saw this cute guy in the library and decided to go up to him and start talking about fucking Velvet Goldmine. And then when we became friends I was so affectionate and invited you over all the time and literally all I wanted to do was spend time with you. I thought I was being obvious every time I sat in your lap or hugged you or anything—”

“You hug everyone,” Harry murmured with a touch of a smile.

“It’s _ different _ with you. I always hugged you longer and, I don’t know, better. Did you really not notice?”

“I mean,” Harry twisted his lip and thought of every day he’d spent with Louis. Of the afternoons that Louis ditched his bike to ride on the back of his, arms around Harry’s shoulders. Of the times when Louis hugged him and his fingers seemed to stroke Harry’s neck. Of one time that Harry fell into the rose bushes outside and took Louis with him and neither of them seemed particularly fussed about getting out of the thorns. “Maybe? I guess? I was scared I was imagining things.”

“Well you do do that a lot,” Louis chuckled and it was nice that this was so easy. It always was with them. Harry felt like an idiot for thinking any differently.

Still, his heart pounded. Because Louis’ fingers had stilled against the hem of his sleeve. His pinky was resting against his bicep. And it felt like they were going somewhere.

Somewhere that maybe, deep down, Harry knew they were heading the whole time.

“Can I—” Louis started, glancing up from his hand to Harry’s eyes. He paused, held his breath, like suddenly he was all too shy. Like he was anything but the Louis that Harry knew except for that split second when they first met and Velvet Goldmine was the thing on Louis’ mind.

So Harry, heart thudding so much that it hurt, filled the gap for him. Made it easy for Louis like Louis always made it easy for him.

“You can kiss me now, if that’s what you’re asking,” Harry said softly.

It was.

Louis smiled timidly, to himself, and carefully stroked the skin of Harry’s bicep. Then he leant down and touched a finger to Harry’s chin. From where they were, Harry looking up at Louis and Louis looking down at Harry, they blinked at each other. Slowly and shyly. With enough force that someone would have thought them still drunk, but they weren’t and Harry knew it. He was too aware of the hammer in his chest and the sound of the rain outside and the clatter of cutlery downstairs. He could feel everything, he could see everything. And right now all he could see was Louis. 

He wanted to feel him too.

So Harry was the one to close the gap. He closed his eyes and kissed him.

Louis tasted like a sun shower, soft and glistening, a smattering of sweet nothings. The kind of thing that comes in summer when the skies are blue and rain is the only relief. 

Harry pressed his lips closer into Louis’, needing but not pushing. A gentle reminder that he really did want to be kissed. Properly.

Louis smiled against him, moving his hands down to clasp at Harry’s and when he softened his lips again they stayed like that for a while. Holding on to each other, kissing each other, not needing to be anywhere else.

When they pulled away, Louis softly smiled and Harry squeezed his hand. It made Louis smile again, brighter but somehow shyer. And so Harry kissed him again.

“Feel this,” Harry whispered when he pulled away again. He moved Louis’ hand to press against his chest. To press against the aching drum of his heart.

“Feel what?” Louis asked, voice husky as he gently smiled.

“My heart.”

“It feels just like mine,” Louis replied and he gently slid his other hand into Harry’s and pressed it against his own chest.

It beat faster than the rain outside. Just as hard as Harry’s. Perhaps he’d been too caught up in the sound of his own heart to hear Louis’, perhaps Louis was just a little more shy to let him hear it. But either way, sitting there together, lips still wet and hands still close, Harry wasn’t going to argue. In a way, there was nothing surprising about this, because like the rain outside being sure to fall to the ground, this felt inevitable. This felt like Harry was always going to be Louis’, like the world had been right in making them fit together so perfectly. Their words and hands and bodies and lips. And their hearts. Perfectly in insync, perfectly in tow. Like rain, like gravity, like the draw of Louis’ hand as he pulled Harry into another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr Post](https://forreveries.tumblr.com/post/187564828771/heartbeats-in-time-by-forreveries-harrylouis-65k)


End file.
